


Not A Victory March

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, Fighting, Gen, Gen Work, triumph against the odds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt of: "Remember in episode 1, where Athos is marched across the prison yard, and all the prisoners is yelling at him from the small windows in their cells? The three must have put at least half of those men in prison, and the they know their names and faces. so when they see Athos being locked away, they have to see an opportunity for revenge against the musketeer that imprisoned them. maybe they fight or corner him in the yard, and the guards just bet on who will take Athos down. cookies if Athos get a bit ruffed up but still wins be course he is awesome."</p><p>It's - angsty but hopeful? And short. It's quite short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Victory March

He wins. 

He wins because he is about to die, and therefore does not care if he loses. It's freedom, in a way. Freedom to hit harder, caring not if the bones in his hand bruise or break. Freedom to dodge later, the narrowest of spaces between his body and the concealed weapons of his opponents, caring not if they slice his flesh. It gives him an advantage.

When the first of them strides up through the prison murk, and it becomes obvious the guards will do nothing to stop it, indeed, are already placing bets amongst themselves - Athos considers, for a moment, not fighting back. Not defending himself. Let it end here, and quickly. Better, perhaps, than a final long dark night of the soul and a firing squad in the morning.

But in the end, when the first punch is thrown, the first kick is aimed, instinct takes over and he can't help himself. And he wins. Because that's what he does. And for a while they keep coming, and he tires, and he bleeds, and he aches, but still he wins. When it comes down to it, he is simply better then them. Better trained, better disciplined. A better man, however much he might disagree.

It serves as a distraction, and he is grateful. Thoughts of the morning, and what must surely come, are driven back as one more nose breaks under his knuckles, one more assailant falls howling from the twist of his own knife, one more man crumples from the force of Athos' knee between his legs. No room for the honourable rules of combat here. 

Athos wonders, distantly, how much money the guards have made out of him tonight. 

He disarms the latest one with a trick he learnt from Porthos, then dispassionately breaks the man's arm with a move that is all his own. 

In all this time, he has never become angry, never responded to the taunts and jeers his opponents are spitting at him. He saves his breath, and saves his strength. And he wins.

Eventually the numbers willing to take him on dwindle to nothing, despite the fact there are still plenty of faces he recognises. Faces he's sent here. Faces openly filled with hate, but also, now, caution and wariness. He has beaten too many of them. 

And victory, ultimately, will be theirs he thinks. They don't have to fight him. They only have to wait until dawn.

Athos is shoved back into his cell by the guards, losing interest in him now no-one else will fight. He slides to the dirt floor, his back to the stone wall, and waits. He is devoid of hope, and yet not consumed by despair. He simply wants it finally to be over.

But after all, in the morning, unlooked for and at the last possible second, snatched from death by those who never lost faith - one last time, he wins.

 

\--


End file.
